Harry Potter...just different
by Philomel
Summary: Well, when yeh havce too much time on your hands and start writing HP...yeh get something like this.
1. Twas the Boy, err...The Boy who Twas

Author Garble: Good Gravy! Well, this is my first satire…of Harry Potter. So, I'll put it under the HP section. Maybe I'll make a few more like this…dunno. Tis up to the reader :-D anyway, please R&R. Oh, FYI, I don't own Harry Potter, fan-Fiction.net, McDonalds, or any fast food restaurant…that would be cool, though…hmm…Oh yaw, read.  
  
  
  
1 Twas the Boy…Er, the Boy who Twas  
  
(A/N Yea, yea-weird title. Bug off)  
  
  
  
It was an early morning in January, when the cold isn't truly cold; it merely gives off such an aura. Bumblebore and Professor McDonagall were walking towards a red brick, two-story house, were a mid 20's man and an early 30's woman, just married, lived. Within McDonagall's hands was a young baby, well kept, quietly sleeping, though shaking from the morning feel. It would soon awake, as the two wizards worried.  
  
"Bumblebore, you know I hate the dark. Let's just magic up some fire, I'm getting the creeps. I knew we should of got Adv should have done this for us…Besides, I crave a burger," McDonagall cried, complaining more then anything. "N-n-n-now see here!" Bumblebore stuttered through. Th-th- th-this is t-t-t-to imp-imp-imp-important for Adv Ir. N-n-n-not only that, ha-ha-ha-have you seen him d-d-d-drive?" "Yes, but…I'm hungry," and the McDonagall handed Bumblebore the child, and reached down, opened her briefcase, and pulled out two McFoogin McBig McSandwhiches. "Want one?" McDonagall questioned Bumblebore. "N-n-n-no thanks, I j-j-j-just had a p-p- p-pack of lemons," Bumblebore replied. 'That must be what makes him so sour…He never gave me that pay raise.' McDonagall thought to herself.  
  
Suddenly, the sounds of an ancient mobile and wreckage filled the air. Bumblebore raised his hands, preparing a spell of protection, when McDonagall pointed out the newcomer. Bumblebore lowered his hands, suddenly recognizing this stranger. "Adv Ir…shoulda figgered, you drivin' like that. Get down from there, we know why you're here."  
  
Down from the sky came…what looked like an overgrown wolf-skin, sagging under enormous weight. This strangely assorted character came nearly as a surprise to the two wizards, though they had met so many times. The one atop the skin, errr, carpet, was a large-boned one. His dream was to bring back old wizard fads, and that he would try. Bumblebore spoke, "Adv, look, flying carpets are out. The new stile is Port Keys, and self- teleportation. You're SO stuck in the past." Adv countered, in a thick, yet fake, French accent "Zir, talk like zis, beacauze I can. I also drive and look like zis becauze I can. France lovez me, and I love itz style. It iz to bad if you disagree. My mobile iz zimple, and eazy to drive, no? And don't let my size fool you; I am smarter zen ze average bear!" And he then promptly turned around, and snatched the baby from Bumblebore's hands, and zaid, errr, said "Little one, I raized you, and I'm zure you will thank me more then theze two, no? Forgive uz all, for you muzt go live with your fatherz motherz twice removed auntz daughterz bezt friendz roommatez, cellmate. And her husband. Anyway, remember uz, when you are wiz zem. And if you acquire a French accent…just remember uz!" Adv turned, "Bumblebore! Leave ze baby and let uz be off!" Bumblebore replied "Of c- c-c-course! One m-m-m-moment, though." Bumblebore turned to the baby, suddenly losing his stutter, and said, "Look here buddy, with you delivered, I've racked up enough orphanage points to be member of the Month! Don't screw this up for me, kid, or else!" And with these words, walked to the carpet, and said, "L-l-l-let's go!" "Yes zir," came the reply, and they were off into the slowly rising sun…then turned back to pick up McDonagall, who they almost had forgotten. They all left, wondering about the future, the child, unsure of breakfast and Adv's driving "skills." Though, without them knowing, the future was closer then they though, all revealed…WHEN THE AUTHOR FEELS LIKE IT!  
  
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A/N-Well…short chapter, though not bad. It set the scene. So, anyone reading this, what did you think? 'Sides that, which do you like better, the RPG satire, or this, the HP satire? Depending on which you like, I'll work more on that type. Please tell…my ideas are growing for both…and btw, I promise elves for both stories…AND ALSO! If there is something' yeh want to see in either stories, when you review it (or send me an e-mail), I'll try and put it in. So, review, and "Unleash your soul!" 


	2. Scones, Fighter Jets, and Beano

Harry Potter Satire  
  
Chapter 2-The Fighter Jet, the Scones, and the Beano  
  
Author Me: K, if you're reading this, thanks. If you're not, you can't be reading this. Anyway, for everyone who reviewed my stories, thanks. I offer this again. For every one story of mine you review, I will review up to 3 of yours. Depends if I like them. If you review all of my stories, I will review all of your stories. Deal? Now review my stories. Thanks. And now, I present…the rest of this.  
  
Copyright/whatever this should be called- I don't own Harry Potter. Or scones. I just eat them. I don't own Beano, and I don't own a Fighter Jet. Wish I did. Never mind…I also don't own Lord of the Rings. Or Fighter Jets. Wait, I just said that…  
  
(Author's Note) NOW! My story!  
  
Larry awoke from his short slumber. He had been working that last night, and was very tired. The hour for sleep he was given would do him little good. His small and scrawny self was…well, small and scrawny. His dirty blond hair matched with the rest of appearance, him obviously in need of a bath, or any 'cleanliness.'  
  
"LARRY!" His aunt, Ecil, screamed, "Get down here! I'm hungry! You know how hard it is for me to keep my perfect form!" 'Yea, a perfect 360°…" Larry thought to himself. "I'm coming Auntie Ecil!" He jumped from the bed, and having no other clothes to wear, was forced to wear the same faded green t-shirt and denim jeans he had slept the night before in. Larry raced to the stairs of the house, because if he weren't fast enough he would get beaten, or injured by any random item. He grabbed for the handrail, and was about to slide down…but then he ran into Ludley. With a bulk of Ludley, it was hard to miss him. And Larry had. Thus, he paid for it.  
  
From Ludley's backside, Larry flew into the guest room, were a mattress was propped against the wall. Larry bounced off of it, flew through another wall, hit the steel piece that led to the laundry room, fell through the laundry shoot, and lay in a pile of clothes, in more need of cleaning then himself. The smell and shock knocked poor Larry out.  
  
At that moment a few strange things all happened at once. First, a tornado occurred, with pots and pans and silverware and other flotsam and jetsam formed, occurring into its own makeshift storm. The piles of laundry were cleaned, with no use of the washer…or dryer. The beds were all made, the lawn mowed, the pets fed, the cow milked, the chicken eggs gathered, the cellar swept ((I think I went a little too far back in time.... FAST FORWARD!!!)) A neighbor, named Rick McNick, looked upon the Ludley's house, and a sudden wish popped into his mind. He wished for the cleaning capabilities like that. A door-to-door salesman also happened to see this event, and not being the most honest, told Rick that he owned the service that had just done that service. Rick suddenly wrote himself down for this salesman's service. Soon some of the nearby families came closer, to see what the ruckus was. They first saw the cleanliness of the Ludley's, and then they heard this salesman's promise. It was agreed, and most of the folks in the area bought the salesperson's cleaning…item. The salesman became a very rich person. Each house would soon have its own "Spiffy Peachy Clean-o-Matic 5197.648," as he called it. Now, because you many readers probably would like to know some more story, let's back up, somewhere around…yes, here.  
  
Ludley had finally waddled his way down the stairs, and to the arch leading into the kitchen. He was now stuck. "Hoi hon. Are, are you hungry?" His aunt Ecil asked. Ludley shook his head up and down vigorously, his flab shaking along with his self. "Here's a scone. They're fresh baked. Here, I'll feed it to you." Justh give me tha thray," Ludley said, having a lisp due to his fat cheeks. When the platter was within his range, he inhaled them. Literally. Suddenly, as read before, the metal storm started. And the storm and themselves being in the kitchen, there was quite some dismay.  
  
Ludley started to swivel around, trying to run away. It was no use. He was stuck. His father then magically appeared, because he plays an important role in this story. "Ecil screamed, and fainted. The father of Ludley, Rocillo, turned to Ludley and said, " Mi hijo grande! Yo estoy pequeno, y tu mama es pequeno, ¿pero tu? Grande!!!" El, err; the tornado grew larger and larger, reaching the outer areas of the kitchen. The Ludley's would soon be in the storm. Ludley, still squirming, had finally turned around, and was trying to run away, in vain. Suddenly, Ludley emitted a burp. It was a small one, with little effect. Then, the action moved downwards. Slowly, until…he farted. The tornado was destroyed, blown to bits. Not only that, his parents were blown back. Ecil and Rocillo, holding onto each other for safety, were thrown back, going through at least seven houses before they hit a metal safe. The fell down, in a heap. They were also, then, unconscious. The house they landed in was the Dlimms, an English family with Irish heritage. "Ack. There goes the planet." "Wrong movie." "Oh, shut up," the parents bickered. The children, nearly five years old, had picked up sticks and started to poke the parents. The didn't awake…  
  
Larry, though asleep/unconscious, was still hit by the horrendous blow. He was thrown up, far above the house. He continued to reach the beginnings of the atmosphere. His fall came slowly, but soon quickened. As luck may have it ((and as the author wants it)) a fighter jet appeared under Larry's decent path.  
  
"Roger, Roger" "Cid, Cid" "Look, when I said 'Roger,' I meant it. Your name isn't Roger, anyway, Bob." "Oh, bother me not," the two pilots fought at. Suddenly, the jet with 'Bob' riding was hit. "I'm goin' down! I'm goin' down!" "No your not. A little kid just hit you." "Look, you just ruined the dramatic effect." "Whoops…" the two started to say. "Anyway, this kid hit my plane real good. What should we do with him?" "I dunno…throw him overboard?" "…K" Larry had a parachute tied around him, and was dropped from the fighter jet, as they went into the horizon. Larry fell, slowly…until the parachute broke. He fell down, gaining speed, until he finally hit…Ludley. Ludley acted as a trampoline, and Larry bounced up and down, until he came to a safe stop.  
  
Larry finally awoke from his slumber. He looked around. He knew this scene, it had happened before to the family. Ludley had a growing grin on his face. "And what are you smiling about?" Larry asked, confused. "Ludley responded, "I've been saving that up." Larry sighed…  
  
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A/N Thus ends another chapter…I guess that was kinda abrupt. Too bad. If I got as many reviews for this chapter as I did for last, I would be pushed to write more…so, review away! Six reviews for a chapter is peachy for me, but two chapters should have twelve reviews. Tis simple math. Thanks y'all. Don't forget my offer, either… 


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